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Hi, My name is Micah Park Biffle, I am the author of ' A Man's Traveled Heart,' I am a Veteran who found in understanding of my self through writing. I consider myself an architect of the imagination. Here you will see my creations come to life. My short stories, poems, my thoughts, and a little touch of my life. (I AM SLOWLY MOVING OF BLOGGER< FOR NEW STORIES PLEASE CLICK THE "MEDIUM" LINK TO THE LEFT)

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The Spilling of Fear

A
twisting presence that rises like flames, burning all that is without
resistance. Bringing no hope to those who run and those who run, will only
strain a longer sentence. Fear, is the demon that finds prey in what one finds
difficult and those who cower from the difficult, lead with blame and speak of
insult. And from the mists of the stars comes its lingering stench. Stinging
the canals of the nose like sour fruits. Leaving actions like mutes. Its bitter
flavor melts the taste of faith, it burns the homes of dreams and devours the
rhythm of life, all this, it constitutes with vicious grace. It boils ambition
with a smile of bliss. Licking its lips of any hope and like the busy you will
dismiss. It follows with no need to run, no need to try, to pray, to hope, or
leap. It only needs to wait and its darkness is filled with patience. Patience
that has no discern of time, laughter, dreams, or life, and its hunger is
infinite and its heart is black and ripened in violence .

Fear
walks among the living in the shadows as its mind draws of murderous sketches.
Filling its mouth with deceitful rhyme and its eyes spill of roaches. Jubilant,
as bodies of dreams, wishes, faith, and hope, lay murdered, sprawled like
victims of war ruptured from their hearts. And fear expands its its grim
crusade as it feasts upon the bodies like foul vultures in darkness, panting
with the blood of life as it finds this to be the true way of onse arts.

It leaves
no ounce of flesh to be left, leaving no ability to recognize. Its speaks as of
it is right, as if it to tell no lie, but its lips weave of dishonest cries.
And like Hermes, its a trickster of all kinds. Many will follow, many will
believe, but in the end, all will grieve. And like the girl in red, singing
between the falling leafs of the woods, they will no longer breathe, for the
false words of fear have punctured like a blade upon rotted flesh. Drawing
love, faith, and dreams, like blood drooling from severed veins. But there is
no room for fear, yet many open their doors and permit it to shelter.

Only to
find themselves wide eyed to its murderous tricks, leaving faith to the spoils
of liquor. Displacing ones once hopeful life into a spinning tragedy of
insanity, of oblivion. As fear gnaws at the reminiscence of what one used to
be, leaving the soul stricken. But do not speak as if all are weak to its
presence, for fear gives no judgments. Blinding those already filled with
dissolution and distress, fear is an actor, knowing how to impress. Fear preys
upon all, but wins only those who do not prepare their walls. It will breach
the smallest cracks, the smallest stitch, it will haunt the minds narrow halls.
And like insects to closed doors, it will find its path, whether it be a pipe
or split in the shingles of the roof. Fear slithers like a worm inside the mud
or our minds, its victims falsely led by its meager stature. Recycling
emptiness and sorrow is its nutrients, its needs and sadly, the mind is not
soundproof.

Thoughts
that bring it value are that which give it breath, give it life. Give it the
fortitude to conquer the beauty of faith, hopes, and dreams. Cutting the
youngest, letting them bleed, displaying them for all to see. Creating tears
where strength once led. Where a leader stood with feet pressed against the floors
of faith as it holds them up. As they hold shut the hordes of shadows that
vigorously pound at their door with mouths greedy of molded bread with all hell
wishing them dead. But, like the needs of a virus, fear will spread with no
guilt, no penance, or shame. It will merely feast upon corpses and bleed the
living of hopes and dreams till it host surrenders with a belly erupting of
fear. A constant tending of the soul is required to keep it at bay and one must
learn to take fear and demand it tame. But few wish to lead a battle against a
beast that craves the very essence of ones soul, a beast that lusts for the
very vision of life and a beast that salivates with a crude appetite to claim.
Fear has no place to be, but so many fall for its tempting plea.

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